


A Distraction

by tiny_trashcan



Series: pact [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts Professors, BDSM, Bondage, Dom Albus Dumbledore, Established Relationship, I learned some new terminology writing this fic ngl, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sensation Play, Sensory Deprivation, Sub Gellert Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 17:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17125592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiny_trashcan/pseuds/tiny_trashcan
Summary: More from an AU where Gellert and Albus are happy and relatively sane and both end up Hogwarts professors, which is once again mostly an excuse to write these two some creative but relatively morally uncomplicated smut. They're both quite political even in an AU, and that can be stressful. Sometimes what you need is a good distraction.





	A Distraction

Sometimes their games are about trust, the exchange of power. With Albus being his equal, giving up power becomes a delight for Gellert, a small reiteration of the blood pact, acting out irrevocable trust again and again. Sometimes, though, the games become a refuge.

It is in Gellert’s nature to be persistent, defiant, refusing to settle for what could be better, but one person cannot solve all the world’s problems. Some days he feels tired of everyone and everything, and the Ministry’s warmongering gets worse every day. They want him to stop writing, want Albus to become a weapon, want everyone to obey them, want dissidents to stop asking questions. He understands why some people want to set the world on fire, on these kind of days. 

The game becomes a distraction, then. It demands their absolute focus, so that aside from each other, everything else temporarily falls away. For Gellert, it blurs everything except Albus so completely it feels like being in a photograph, free of past and future, nothing but a constant repetition of present.

Albus suspends him midair and blindfolds him. He gives the hovering spell a semblance of tying Gellert up by his collar and a pair of leather wrist cuffs, so he cannot struggle much, yet the weightlessness gives him the impression of being deep underwater. That day, Albus had a terrible meeting with the British delegation to the Wizengamot, and Gellert had a shouting match with the other History of Magic professor about pureblood supremacy, so both of them are ready for a thoroughly involved distraction. Gellert is jittery enough he earns a few sharp slaps on the hip for wiggling. 

Albus not only covers his eyes, but stops his ears, also. They have discussed this before, though this will be the first try. He can still speak; when he says, “Albus, I am ready,” he cannot hear his own words. Already wound up from anticipation, the unfamiliarity of this silence sends a fresh zing of nervous excitement down his back. He’s forced to float there, in the silence and the dark, waiting. The air is just barely chilly; gooseflesh rises on his arms and legs. He waits, arousal slowly fed by anticipation and nerves.

Something smooth and slightly scratchy like wool touches the inside of his knees. He startles. It moves up and down his inner thighs. Fingernails scrape lightly down his back, and his arousal flares hot and sharp. A cool damp something presses gently between his legs and rubs behind his balls, not entirely unwelcome but odd. Both touches vanish. He twists restlessly and earns another sharp slap just below the curve of his behind. It is more surprising than painful and the sting quickly becomes a warm burn.

A velvet ribbon slithers from the hollow of his throat down his chest. He tilts back his head, not knowing whether his exhale was silent or made a sound. The velvet slides slowly back and forth down his body until his breaths become short and sharp from sensitization. The velvet wraps around his aching cock and slides tantalizingly slowly from base to tip. Its touch is too light, unsatisfying, and he thrusts uselessly into the air. The ribbon licks down his slit, wetness catching in the long weave, and then the ribbon vanishes. His breath quivers out of him but he cannot hear the sound he makes, only feel it vibrating in his throat. It’s unnerving. His collar and cuffs feel like the only contact with reality. He twists, longing for a real touch, but only gets gauzy silk poured over his shoulders to the backs of his knees. The silk slides between his legs and he keens, still unable to hear himself.

Even pulling against the restraints becomes unsettling: he can feel the leather but not hear the faint clink of the buckles. Uncertainty twists in with his arousal, a touchy and not entirely pleasant feeling. _Albus,_ he tries to say, but he cannot hear himself speak.

 _Albus, stop._ He cannot hear his own voice, as if it doesn’t exist, as if Albus won’t hear him. He feels a flash of panic in the time it takes for Albus to respond.

Sound returns to him immediately and abruptly.  
“Tell me,” says Albus’s voice quite close to him. Gellert sags against the restraints, overwhelmed to hear Albus’s voice.  
“I could not hear you,” he says. His voice sounds loud and also very faint. He feels cold. His relief feels disproportionate, bent out of shape.

He doesn’t know what he looks like, but something—perhaps posture, perhaps the smallness of his voice—makes Albus pull the blindfold off and cradle his face between both palms. Warm skin feels shockingly real, and he shivers. He keeps his eyes shut, still disoriented. Sounds seem very loud. He is hyperaware of Albus breathing, the faint rustle of his clothes, the mantlepiece clock ticking, the crackle of the fireplace. Albus pulls him close, still suspended, tucking Gellert’s head under his chin, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. His beard scratches against Gellert’s ear. “You’re alright,” Albus murmurs. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

“I couldn’t hear you,” Gellert says again, stupidly.  
“I know. I’m right here, love,” Albus says patiently in his ear. Gellert’s arms are still restrained and he focuses on Albus’s smell, the feel of his skin. He has rolled his sleeves up above the elbow, bare forearm against Gellert’s naked back. Gellert breathes him in with relief. Touch and sound and smell reconnect, and reality reasserts itself. He would be helplessly lax if the hover charm didn’t hold him up, but otherwise he feels much better.

Albus says, “Do you want to come down?”  
Gellert shakes his head a little, still not opening his eyes. He can imagine what he would see: Albus’s shirt and shoulder, his auburn hair, a glimpse of deep blue carpet, firelight flickering on the red curtains. He can picture it, and that’s enough. It is easy to relax and let warmth seep into him.

“I would like to hear your answer,” Albus says; “Do you want to come down?”  
“This is—good, I can keep going.”  
“My question was whether you want to keep going, not whether you are able.”  
“Yes.” Gellert inhales and turns his head, trying to find Albus’s lips without opening his eyes. “I want your hands, Albus,” he breathes. 

Albus does not put the blindfold back on. Gellert keeps his eyes shut. Albus leaves him suspended, but not so isolated now he can hear. The moment of uncertainty leaves him attuned to how Albus now takes extra care; he keeps a hand on Gellert almost constantly this time, with fingertips at the point of his shoulder blade, a caress down his side, a gentle but possessive stroke over the back of his thigh. Leftover adrenaline sharpens his senses, sharpens his arousal back to a low-level urgency.

“Did you like the velvet?” Albus asks.

Gellert nods. The velvet ribbon strokes the back of his neck. It coils around his throat, under his chin, under his collar and back out again, cool compared to the warm leather. Albus’s hands rub from his knees high up inside his thighs, holding his legs apart. This time he can hear the high pitch of his breathing as the ribbon teases down his front, over his hipbones. 

“Albus, please,” he hisses.  
“How does it feel?”

It feels incredible, it feels like he’ll burn up and turn to ash, it feels like he can’t possibly focus long enough to speak with Albus teasing him so skillfully. He starts to make a snide remark but inhales sharply instead. Normally he doesn’t have a strong opinion about a hand on his balls, but every bit of his skin zings. He gasps and squirms. “Oh really?” Albus chuckles, right behind him. 

“Please,” Gellert breathes.  
“Tell me what you want.”  
Gellert growls at him. Albus laughs and slaps the inside of his thigh, which is more a reward than a warning.

Albus has a rough little callous on the pointer finger of his wand hand. He got it from doing transfiguration drills for decades, and he knows exactly how to make Gellert writhe by running that finger up and down the underside of his cock. Albus leans close, his beard brushing against Gellert’s back, one hand still braced to hold him open. Gellert fights against the restraints to no avail, not to escape, but only for more contact. The velvet continues to wrap around him, cool, light, torturous. 

Albus moves around in front of him. There is a rustle of cloth and finally a hand around him, finally, finally, and Albus’s length gripped against his in that same hand. He recognizes the feeling instantly and tries to squirm closer despite his restraints. Albus strokes them both, firm and steady, and Gellert is helpless to resist, arching towards him. He can’t tell if it’s both of them leaking or just himself, but Albus’s hand is damp, unbearable, not enough, so much, dragging him along the edge. “That’s right, go ahead,” Albus says breathlessly, and Gellert is gone, spilling all over both of them. Pleasure flares out under his skin in ripples like a firework. 

Albus keeps moving, short of breath, Gellert’s spend slicking his hand. Each stroke sends another burst of sparks up Gellert’s spine and he rocks to meet them, chasing the boundary between pleasure and pain until Albus finishes too. He makes no sound except a shuddering breath. Wet heat splatters against Gellert’s stomach. Albus grips his hip and pants softly. He leans his forehead against Gellert’s shoulder until he catches his breath, and Gellert basks, his mind wonderfully peaceful.

Albus cleans them with a warm washcloth rather than a cleaning spell. He directs Gellert to lean his face on his shoulder while he cleans him. He removes the cuffs and the collar by hand and steers him to the couch before removing the hover charm. Gellert sluggishly tries to keep his elbows of the way while Albus lowers him gently onto the couch and wraps him in a soft blanket. 

Albus strokes his cheek. “Still with me?” he asks.  
Gellert nods, smiling slightly. He still feels like he’s floating, the inevitable exhaustion and heaviness starting to settle in under a blur of euphoria.  
Albus says, “I’ll sit with you in just a moment, alright?”  
“Alright,” Gellert murmurs. 

He opens his eyes a sliver to watch Albus undress the rest of the way. Albus lines up his shoes under the side table, neatly folds his pants and shirt over the back of the chair, underwear and undershirt sent off to the laundry with a flick of his wand. He sits to remove his socks; Gellert can appreciate the neat clean line of the sock garters even though he’s too worn out to feel anything but affection for the sight. Albus removes his spectacles last and pulls Gellert to him, wrapping them both in an additional layer of blankets. Gellert turns and settles against Albus’s chest with a sigh. 

“Hello, love,” Albus murmurs, kissing the top of his head.  
“Hello, Albus,” he replies softly.  
“Are you back yet?”  
Gellert sighs and burrows further into the blankets. “Mmm. Perhaps.”

From the next room, something scratches the closed door and makes a pitiful sound. Gellert chuckles and waves the door open. Toenails scrabble on the floor. Then there is a heavy _whumph_ as Gellert’s pet chupacabra leaps up on to the back of the sofa. The creature chitters anxiously and flops heavily onto Gellert’s shins, little claws catching on the blanket. 

“Worried about you,” Albus comments, amusement coloring his voice. The chupacabra chirps and squirms half way into Gellert’s lap. “Needy,” Gellert murmurs, smirking, and Albus snorts. “You know what they say about pets being like their owners, Gellert?” Albus teases. Gellert ignores him and works a hand out from under the blankets to scratch the chupacabra under his spiky chin.

Albus is the only person who has permission to laugh at him. Neither of them can afford to be spoiled or vulnerable outside these rooms, where Albus’s problems are more difficult to solve, and Gellert trusts nobody else with solutions. Only here, for now, they can stay curled together on the couch, ignoring everything else. Albus hand-feeds Gellert honey-filled puff pastries, and Gellert licks honey off his husband’s fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> You guys are a bad influence (or a good influence) so here you go, have some more. I have no idea what I'm doing lol so tell me what you think! Trashiness notwithstanding, I have made some effort to make the characters not seem anonymous.
> 
> As usual I am on the flaming sinking ship that is Tumblr (@tiny-trashcan) and also Twitter, mostly for fanart and shitposts (@TrashcanTiny). If you come yell excitedly at me on any of these platforms I will love you forever :D


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